


Querencia

by SinpaiCasanova (Bladerunnerblue)



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Explicit Sexual Content, Feminization, Historical Dress, Implied Mpreg, Knotting, Love at First Sight, M/M, Matchmaking, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Bucky Barnes, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Porn With Plot, Scenting, Tudor Era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:53:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24459262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bladerunnerblue/pseuds/SinpaiCasanova
Summary: “Oh no, Mother, not another courting ceremony,” Steve protests, a whine slipping into his voice that he’d be rather embarrassed about if anyone other than Sarah ever heard it. “I beg you, no more. I can’t go through that puffed up charade again, being paraded before a dozen worthy Omegas like I’m some prime cut of meat. She probably won’t even like me.”Sarah laughs then, as if Steve is being overly dramatic about the whole thing. He doesn’t believe he is, but that doesn’t mean much when it comes to his mother, who knows him even better than Sam does.“Well, Steven,” she gently corrects, “she is a he, and the only one you’d be ‘paraded’ in front of.”
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 195
Kudos: 575





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [susannaholmes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/susannaholmes/gifts).



"Your Majesty?" Calls one of Steve's many attendants from the doorway to his personal chambers–Peter, he believes the boy is named. These Gentlemen of the Bedchamber come and go so often that Steve hardly puts forth the effort to learn their names anymore. Though, with how insistent Peter is on staying at court, he may have to for this one.

"What is it?" Steve looks up from the stack of papers he's been pouring over for the better part of the afternoon, tending to matters that urgently require his attention. The boy chews his bottom lip as he looks down at his feet, and almost instantly, the commiserate look on poor Peter's face is joined by the acrid stench of distress.

Whatever it is, Steve is certain he’s not going to like it.

"Speak, boy," Steve commands, and though it wasn't his intention, he doesn't miss the way the young Beta stiffens at the Alpha's stern bark.

Belatedly, he bows, fingers digging into the soft velvet of his feathered cap; navy tinted, adorned with rich crimson threading and an Eagle’s plumage to signify the sigil of the King’s house, as is the rest of his uniform.

"F-forgive me, Your Grace, but the Earl of High Garden insists upon an audience."

Ah, so that’s the reason for Peter’s chary countenance.

Steve waves the boy off, making sure his expression is as relaxed as he can manage under the circumstances. After all, it’s not Peter’s fault that Alexander Pierce is a fork-tongued cunt.

Peter blows out the breath he’d been holding as he scurries from the room, and belatedly, Steve realizes he’d been stinking up the place with the potent scent of his dissatisfaction. He can only imagine how that must come across to someone like Peter, whose very livelihood hangs in balance. Though, Steve isn’t the type to let his temper overcome his rationality, and those that wrong him usually don’t have their heads leave their shoulders over it.

But for a man like Pierce, Steve could always make an exception.

The Earl of High Garden makes his entrance a moment after Peter’s retreat, all gussied up in his finest jewels and clothes as if he were the king himself. Steve rolls his eyes internally at Pierce’s flair for the dramatics, and though he’d rather grimace, Steve pastes a smile onto his face as he sits back in his chair, begrudgingly giving Pierce’s matter the full measure of his attention.

“My Lord Privy Seal,“ Steve greets, and the title slips from his tongue a bit more acidic than he intends to show. How this snake in the grass ended up with a seat on the Privy Council was entirely his father’s doing, but rather than throw Pierce in a rat-infested cell as he’d like to, Steve chose to honor his father’s decision rather splendidly by keeping Pierce at court. Obviously, that is a decision he greatly regrets.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

“You haven’t answered Schmidt’s letters,” he says, cutting right to the core of the matter for once. “Your Majesty.”

The honorific was thrown on after a beat, most likely because Pierce recalled that he’s supposed to be courteous when addressing the King he serves and not whining like some petulant child. Honestly, Steve is surprised he managed to sound sincere when they both know Pierce has claims to the throne he hasn't acted upon yet.

What he’s waiting for, Steve doesn’t know. Pierce has both the coin and the reach to pull together a private army, but still, he’d rather sit on the council and play politics while his family rival that seized the crown from his forefathers runs the country in his stead.

“So I haven’t,” Steve answers, “what of it?”

Pierce takes a measured breath, schooling his expression into neutrality as he searches for the correct words to say. Of course, Steve already knows what Pierce is after. 

“May I speak plainly?” 

“You may.”

“With all due respect, Your Majesty, I don’t believe you understand what’s at stake here.” Pierce begins, and Steve has to close his eyes and count to ten before he leaps from his chair to throw Pierce from the open window. God damn this arrogant Alpha. Damn him straight to Hell. “The King of Vormir is offering you a truce, practically gifting you his eldest daughter on a silver platter to end the bloodshed between our two great realms. If the dowry of one million pounds that Princess Joanna comes with isn’t enough to sway you, then perhaps the best interest of your people should.”

Steve saw the barb coming, could smell Pierce’s irritation long before his tongue ever gave voice to it, but still, the villainous cunt is able to coax Steve’s anger to the surface like the snake charmer he is, heedless to the danger that follows it.

Steve stands from his chair in an instant, vaguely aware that he’s posturing like a brute as he slams both hands down upon the table before him. Pierce, the bastard, doesn’t even flinch.

“Do not presume to tell me what my duties to this realm are, Pierce. Never have I let my people suffer when steps could be made to remedy their hardships!” Steve growls, low and commanding. “If you recall, it was Schmidt who started this war when he had Ambassador Erskine, my _uncle_ , murdered in cold blood.”

“I haven’t forgotten his misdoings, Your Majesty.” Pierce calmly states, offering the King a reassuring smile that Steve would rather claw off his face than take comfort in. “Your father, God rest his soul, avenged Abraham’s death rather valiantly before the sweat took him. Ten years we’ve been warring with Vormir, and not once has Schmidt offered us an olive branch for peace. But he is now. The marriage of our kingdoms, and not to mention the start of universal and perpetual peace among the southern realms, could be your greatest achievement. Something that sets your reign apart from your father’s. You would be _infamous_ , My King.”

Steve scrubs a hand down his face, weary from how repetitive this conversation has become. Every few months Pierce will circle back around to it, reminding Steve of his duties to ensure the survival of his people, and of course, his family’s name. It’s not lost on Steve that he’s a mateless Alpha of twenty-five, and that he was the only surviving heir of King Joseph II and Queen Sarah of Secunda. 

His brother before him, William–an Alpha that died shortly before the sweating sickness claimed their father as well–was the only other in Steve’s family that could claim the throne in the event of Steve’s passing, but he too died without taking a mate, and therefore, had no offspring to carry on the name of their forefathers. 

It's a heavy burden for Steve to carry for as long as he has. He was crowned King on his fifteenth birthday, but the council and his mother both agreed that it would be best if Sarah ruled as Queen Regent until Steve came of age a few years later. At the time, Steve never gave thought to how relentless the council would be to him taking a mate, but Pierce, unsurprisingly, is the only one pushing for a specific union; namely Princess Joanna of Vormir and Steve himself.

Personally, Steve would rather mate with a sow than the Princess, but Pierce doesn’t seem to understand that Steve holds no affections for this Omega, and so he would never take her for a mate.

Perhaps, for once, the whispers at court regarding Pierce are true; those rumors said of secret dealings with foreign powers, made to elevate his own position within the kingdom.

Pierce sniffs at the air subtly, fully aware that his presence and his words are not welcome, but his expression never changes, and his body doesn’t stiffen with agitation. Say what you will about the Alpha, but he’s smart and cunning; could easily charm the food out of a hungry bear’s mouth, as Sam has said before.

“If Your Majesty would allow me to set up a meeting, I’m sure you would find the Princess much more appealing to the senses than what her portrait offers-”

Steve holds up his hand, and Pierce’s words are cut off at the neck.

“No meeting is necessary,” he says, “I have been acquainted with the Princess once before during my father’s progress.”

Pierce presses onward, a hint of hope in his voice. 

“And what is Your Majesty’s judgment on the Omega?”

Steve considers the question carefully, recalling the time when his father first visited Vormir and took him along. The kingdom was dreary and the people pale and lifeless, and though King Johann was a powerful sight dressed in all that black and crimson, his daughter was nothing of the sort. 

Joanna was small and slight, the rich cocoa of her hair spun in dizzying curls to frame the sharp angles of her cheeks and jaw. Her deep-set eyes were green, lips thin and rosy, with a curved nose slightly too big for her face. But it was the scent she carried, as well as her attitude, that truly turned Steve’s stomach sour toward her. 

And yes, time has indeed changed her appearance. She’s grown into her looks and has become quite a handsome Omega, but Steve’s belly still rolls unpleasantly when the memory of her scent crowds into the back of his mind once again.

“Her scent is...malodorous to me,” Steve states, delighting in the way Pierce’s shoulders slump in disappointment. “I like her not.”

“Might I remind Your Grace that you need only be in the Princess’ presence on occasions that call for it. You could always take a mistress to your bed if you find the Omega unsatisfactory-”

“The only matter that need concern you, _Lord High Garden,_ is whether or not your head will remain upon your shoulders for extending your reach!” Steve growls, and this time, Pierce’s scent takes a sharp turn toward aggression that leaves Steve itching for a fight. “I like her not, and I will not be burdened by this matter again, do you understand?!”  
  
“Yes, Your Majesty. Understood.” Pierce clenches his jaw, fists curled up in a tight ball before he remembers himself once again and lets them fall open at his sides. 

Steve isn’t normally one for using intimidation tactics upon his subjects, especially those that sit on the Privy Council, but Pierce has pushed this agenda on him more than once before, and he’s simply grown weary of harkening to it. 

Sam has given him frequent counsel on ways of dealing with Pierce, telling Steve that he should be heedful of the words he uses, lest they come back to bite him. 

_“Be careful of Lord High Garden, Steven. He may be stupidly impulsive, but he’s richer than you are, and he can call upon a private army.”_ Sam had warned after a particularly explosive conversation ignited between them. _“Not even your father crossed him.”_

Steve remembers, has never forgotten the power Pierce holds over the subjects of his kingdom, but when last he looked, _he_ was the rightful King of Brookhaven. Not Alexander Pierce.

“Your Grace,” Steve bows slightly and Pierce mirrors the gesture, taking his leave without explicitly being told to. It’s a relief when Pierce is no longer clogging up his chambers with the scent of iron and rain, and he sags back into his chair and sighs, bringing up an orange stuffed with cloves to his nose to clear his senses of Pierce’s stinking smugness.

God help him. The last thing Steve needs is an uprising on his hands, brought on by an Alpha with far too much King in his blood. He knows that his time is running out, can feel the neglected itch festering underneath his skin like rot.

Steve needs to find a mate and soon, lest Pierce decides to use his hesitance against him to seat himself on Steve’s throne. He could so easily do it, is probably using the promised mating of Steve and the Princess to gain Vormir’s support if Pierce decides he craves a kingly power above that of a politician.

Steve can sense the sand in the hourglass draining on his reign, but for the life of him, he just can’t bring himself to take someone he doesn’t love as a mate. He wants more than political alliances and kingly duties when it comes to taking an Omega for himself.

He wants love that’ll last through the ages and a scent that drives him mad with want, and he’s not going to find that in Joanna of Vormir. 

“Majesty?” Young Peter abruptly squeaks as he peers in through the opened door, no doubt put on edge by what he just heard. Poor lad.

“It’s alright, boy,” Steve soothes, giving the Beta a watery grin he hopes is convincing enough. “What is it?”

“T-the Dowager Queen is here to see you.”

“Wonderful! Send her in.” Steve’s face breaks out into a beaming smile that seems to make the Beta relax a bit, and as Steve sits up in his chair, watching with barely restrained awe as his beloved mother glides into the room dressed in a breathtakingly blue gown than makes her eyes shine, he just can’t help but lean into the warm, comforting hand she places on his clean-shaven cheek; taking refuge in a rosy scent he’s known since birth.

“Oh, my little dove,” Sarah soothes, gazing down at her son lovingly. “What troubles you?”

Steve sighs, the sound breaking into a wounded sort of laugh that makes her brow crease in concern. She should be able to smell it on him; his irritation, the hopelessness, the weariness he feels over this. He’s sure she can, but Sarah has always preferred that Steve opens up and talks things through rather than resort to brooding alone in his study as his father often did. 

Sometimes, he really misses that old fool. Though, Steve and William were always closer to Sarah than they were with Joseph. It’s just how things were, how they’ve always been. He doesn't blame his father for being distant most of his childhood. Kings were fathers to a nation, and Steve couldn’t begrudge thousands just because they received more attention and love than he ever did.

But if Sarah ever taught him anything, it’s that Steve has the power to break the mold. He can be different than the kings before him, and so he’s always strived to be just that: better. Stronger.

“It’s this whole mating business, Mother,” Steve confesses. His mother takes a seat in the chair to his left and holds both of his big hands in hers, encouraging him to continue with a gentle squeeze and a warm smile. “Frankly, I’ve grown weary of it all. I’d much rather rule this land alone than share my crown and my heart with someone I hold no affection for.”

“I know, darling boy,” Sarah says, giving Steve’s hand a reassuring pat. “I was much the same before I met your father. I cared not for duty, and valued love above all else, refusing to mate with just anyone my father deemed appropriate for me. I stayed the course, and while others would say I was too unruly an Omega, unfit for any proper Alpha, my steadfastness led me straight into the arms of a King, who valued my spirit and saw me as more than just a trinket he could possess.”

Steve smiles, morose, his heart clenching painfully at the grief he still sees in his mother’s eyes when she speaks of Joseph. It twists her scent into such a cold, sad thing, like a morning of pale spring still clinging to winter’s chill. He longs to comfort her, but he simply doesn’t have the words she needs to hear. He never has.

“You remind me of him, your father,” she continues, and her eyes are growing wet and wistful as she searches her son’s face. “Strong and courageous, unafraid to go against the current in a world where it’s easier just to flow with the raging river. You deserve a mate that compliments that, strengthens it and lets it grow. I know Lord Pierce means well, but Joanna is not the one for you.”

Steve huffs wearily, dropping his eyes down to the floor, “I wish with all my heart that I could find the one you speak of, Mother, but I fear they do not exist.”

“But what if they did?” Sarah offers, and now there’s a hint of mirth in her smile. She’s been plotting again, Steve’s certain of it. “I happen to know of a lovely young Omega whom Your Majesty has yet to become acquainted with.”

“Oh no, Mother, not another courting ceremony,” Steve protests, a whine slipping into his voice that he’d be rather embarrassed about if anyone other than Sarah ever heard it. “I beg you, no more. I can’t go through that puffed up charade again, being paraded before a dozen _worthy_ Omegas like I’m some prime cut of meat. She probably won’t even like me.”

Sarah laughs then, as if Steve is being overly dramatic about the whole thing. He doesn’t believe he is, but that doesn’t mean much when it comes to his mother, who knows him even better than Sam does.

“Well, Steven,” she gently corrects, “she is a _he_ , and the only one you’d be _‘paraded’_ in front of.”

“Beg pardon?” Steve blinks dumbly, unsure he’s heard that correctly. “You mean to tell me there’s a male Omega here at court? Truly? I believed them all gone ages ago.”

In truth, male Omegas are nearly extinct due to their complicated anatomy. More than a few of them have died in childbirth, or afterward due to poor care and puerperal fever. For one to be present at Steve’s court is nothing short of miraculous, but his mother is also offering the King a potential mate that may very well be barren or die shortly after the birth of any children they produce. It’s puzzling, and perhaps a bit desperate, but Steve trusts his mother’s word and values her opinion. If she says this is the way to go, then Steve will follow this path obediently. 

“He’s a rarity, yes, but I feel Your Majesty would be most delighted to meet the boy. He’s a little reserved, but a true beauty beyond measure. I’m certain you’d get along quite nicely.”

Steve leans back in his chair, curiosity overtaking any hesitance he may otherwise be feeling about this.

“How are you so sure?”

Sarah gives her son a knowing look, confident as any former Queen should be.

“I know my son,” is all she says, and truly, that’s the only answer Steve needs. There is no other agenda behind this than Steve’s happiness, and for reasons he can’t yet place, he feels a youthful sort of excitement zip up his spine like a shock of lightning. 

“Alright,” Steve concedes, easily enough, “I trust you’ll have Sam arrange the meeting? I don’t want Pierce meddling in this matter. I don’t trust him. Not with this.”

Sarah nods as she rises from her chair, all regal grace and beauty. Sarah is a Queen by marriage, but it’s safe to say she was also born to rule kingdoms better than any Alpha ever has, including his father. She’s a lioness by nature, fierce and proud, protective of what little family she has left. She would not lead Steve down a path that undoes him.

“Be of good cheer, little dove,” the Queen proclaims, leaning down to press a kiss to the golden locks of Steve’s hair, “I’ll see that it’s done.”


	2. Chapter 2

Sam, Lord High Chancellor to His Majesty, arranges for the private meeting between the King and the eldest son of the Duke of Frostfall, as requested by the Dowager Queen. He goes about the King’s business quietly, taking care not to raise any suspicions from Lord Pierce or Vormir’s ambassador, Jasper Sitwell, who mysteriously returned to court just recently, despite the war that's been raging between their two countries.

Steve has half a mind to blame Pierce for that, ever so eager to jump into bed with Vormir despite their past history of deception and the egregious transgressions their King committed against this realm. It wouldn’t surprise Steve at all to find out that Pierce has a personal stake involved in the successful melding of these two kingdoms, however, he has no physical proof of Lord High Garden’s treachery, and so he has no just cause to proceed against him.

Well, not yet, at least.

Sam travels alone to Frostfall on horseback, personally delivering the King’s summons to the Duke himself, and when he returns to court a day later, he brings with him the most welcome news.

But of course, with Sam alone entrusted with the delicacy of this great matter, Steve has come to expect nothing less. Steve is glad to have him, and honestly, he knows deep in his heart that his reign would not be as successful as it is without Sam here to guide him, nor would Steve have a shred of sanity left to his name if his Chancellor were anyone other than Sam.

Steve owes this Alpha more than he can ever repay, yet even knowing this as well as he does, he still tries to spoil him rotten.

“You should have seen him, Steve,” Sam grins as he raises his chalice of wine to the plush curve of his mouth, laughing a bit to himself as he recalls the evening he spent in the Duke’s company. “I mean, George Barnes has always been an Alpha of few words, but he turns into a rather chatty fucker at the mention of his son's union to the bloody King of Brookhaven. I could barely get a moment's peace!”

Steve laughs around a mouthful of wild boar, a bit of the juice from the roast dripping from his chin before he has a chance to dab it away. Not that it really matters here if Steve begins to resemble a pig at the trough rather than an Alpha of the highest nobility. There’s no need for either to stand on ceremony when it’s just the two of them dining together, and if Steve were to close his eyes, he could almost fool himself into thinking they were just a couple of lads without a care in the world, that the crown and all that came with it was someone else’s burden.

But it’s not. Steve’s had this yoke around his neck since the day his mother birthed him, and no amount of wishful thinking could ever change that. But, if he’s able to control one thing about his destiny as King, it would simply be this: to mate with whomever his heart chooses, not whoever offers the greatest political gain. God willing, perhaps this Omega he’s soon to meet will be the one he’s been waiting so long for.

“Did you see him?” Steve asks, and God help him, he can’t keep the excitement out of his voice when he speaks of the Marquess. “Did you talk with him? What was he like, Sam?”

Sam is silent for a moment as he takes on the full brunt of the King’s zeal. Steve’s been told before that he resembles a newborn colt that hasn’t yet grown into its legs when he gets like this, practically falling all over himself in his elation—hell, it’s damn near contagious to watch as it happens—but there’s a telling grin on Sam’s face that makes Steve’s blood spark like it never has before, and so he just can’t help but let a bit of that fire seep out to inevitably consume the room. 

“God, Sam,” Steve sighs wistfully as he rises from his chair, pacing restlessly by the fireplace like a caged lion set to pounce. “With everything in me I wish to possess this Omega, and yet, I haven’t even met him. It’s foolish, I know, but my heart beats faster at the mere mention of him. Has it happened, Sam? Have I finally gone mad?”

Sam laughs at Steve’s dramatics, popping a grape into his mouth as he leans back into his chair. The entirety of the dining area has now been thoroughly doused in happy Alpha, and though spiced citrus isn’t the type of aroma Sam would normally react to, he soon finds that his own scent has taken a joyous twist as well; lavender and sage dancing with orange and cloves.

It’s actually quite soothing, now that Sam has a moment to appreciate it for what it is: two dear friends dressed down in their shirts and trousers after a long day, taking comfort in the other’s presence just as they always have.

“I’ll admit that I had some scruples about this boy being a good match for you,” Sam confesses, “but your mother has done well with this one. His family is respectable and loyal to the crown, and the boy is simply divine-”

“So you _did_ see him?”

Steve’s eyes widen at that, and it’s clear that it’s taking everything in him just to keep himself from shouting. 

Sam nods. “I did.”

“And?”

“You’ll be more than pleased, Your Grace,” Sam says, but despite the reassurance, the use of honorifics earns Sam an eye roll from the King. They don’t speak to each other like that while meeting in private, and Sam knows it, but sometimes he likes to poke and prod just to see Steve’s reactions, which never fails to entertain. “He arrives in the morning and will be presented to you shortly after. If I may be so presumptuous, I’d say he’s just as excited to meet with you as you are to be in his company.”

The grin that splits Steve’s face is nothing short of luminous, and it’s then that Sam realizes how long it’s been since he’s seen the King this way. It’s evident in the tense set of his shoulders and the perpetual crease between his brows that the throne is a hefty weight that few can carry, but Steve does so without complaint because he was born to bear that burden. At least, Sam hopes, if the meeting that’s soon to take place goes well enough, Steve won’t have to carry it alone any longer.

“Tomorrow can’t come soon enough, Sam,” Steve sighs, and there’s an almost inaudible whine buried underneath all that hope and longing, but Sam hears it clear enough to get the point. This is it for Steve. He doesn’t know this Omega, has never laid eyes on his face or heard his voice, but the entire future of Steve’s reign is riding on the outcome of this meeting. “I want to nurture love, Sam. I need him more than I’ve ever needed anything before, and...it frightens me, feeling this way for another with whom I share no past. I almost think it to be a disaster in the making, setting my hopes so high. What if he rejects me? What shall I do then, Sam?”

Sam rises from his chair, placing a comforting hand on Steve’s shoulder that makes the Alpha sag into his touch.

“Hey,” he softly murmurs, catching Steve’s attention when it tries to wander down that dark path again. Their eyes meet; deep chestnut melding with the icy blue of Steve’s gaze, and it settles Steve’s restless soul in ways he can’t quite articulate. All is well when Sam’s near, always has been, always will be. “Everything is going to be alright. You’ll see, I promise. Once you lay your eyes on him, all your worries will scatter away like leaves in the wind. He was made for you, Steve, I’m certain of it as I’ve never been with anything before. He is your destiny, and you are his.”

Sam says it with such conviction that Steve can’t help but believe him. Whatever comes from tomorrow’s meeting will set the course for the remainder of Steve’s reign, and whether or not the throne will stay with the Rogers family, or fall to a man like Lord Pierce.

* * *

Morning comes much too slowly for Steve’s liking, who spent the remainder of the evening pacing about his personal chambers like some agitated beast of the field. His heart was far too restless to allow sleep to sweep in and claim him, and when he did find respite for a moment or two, he found himself dreaming of an Omega he barely even knew.

Thoughts of the unmasked Marquess dance around his thoughts from dawn’s first light until Steve sits down for breakfast. It follows him as young Peter dresses the King in his finest doublet; silver with a white floral print running down the chest and sleeves. His jacket’s a mix of gunmetal, white, and black threading, complimenting his black trousers and knee-high boots. The large chain draped over his shoulders is pure silver; ovals full of diamonds scattered like stars on a backdrop of onyx, as well as circular cuts of pearl are stamped into the design in a perfect pattern. The thick belt wrapped around the King’s trim waist is black leather, the brushed silver of the buckle adorned with pearls to tie the whole image together.

Steve looks every bit the King he is today, and he knows it, but he also knows his confidence in this matter only extends to as far as his wardrobe. On the outside, he’s as fierce and imposing as an eagle, but inside, he feels more akin to an anxious, scared chick learning to fly on its own.

Steve receives word by midmorning that the Duke’s family has arrived at court and is settled into the apartments normally reserved for a Queen–or in this case, the prince consort–and that the meeting would take place shortly after supper.

According to Sam, the Duke has four other unmated children, besides Steve's mystery consort, that are still living at the estate–mostly girls, it seems, but the eldest two are Omegas and the younger are a division of Beta and Alpha. Steve knows of the Duke somewhat, vaguely recalls bestowing titles and lands to George Barnes for his years of unconditional loyalty to the crown, but he'd be lying if he claimed his knowledge went any further than that. 

He doesn’t remember ever meeting the Duchess, Winnifred, or the Marquess–the Omega he soon learns is named James–but if Sam’s depiction of the Omega has any bearing in truth, he’d be hard-pressed to ever forget such an enchanting creature as James.

By the time the sun has set, casting a gorgeous golden glow over the Kingdom of Brookhaven, Steve is alerted that his potential consort, James, is waiting for him just outside the door. 

He quickly rises to his feet, running a trembling hand through the short locks of his blond hair as he awaits young Peter to properly usher the Omega into his personal chambers. Though, he does sneak a quick peek at himself in the full-body mirror to the left of him, straightening out his doublet and placing his simple, silver crown atop his head.

With a quick, anxious nod from the King, Peter smiles warmly and swiftly opens the door.

“The Marquess of Frostfall,” the boy loudly announces, stepping to the side to let the Omega pass him before he slips out of the room.

Steve’s gaze is raptly fixed to the entrance, heart pounding and scent twisting with a happy sort of anxiety he just can’t seem to control. Although, it does help that Steve is the only one in his personal chambers, lest the room be tainted with another’s scent that may dissuade James from agreeing to mate with him, if things go that far, that is.

It’s best that these sort of affairs be as one-on-one as they possibly can be, though, as King, Steve isn’t usually afforded that courtesy. Usually, Omegas are lined up by the dozen and presented to His Majesty one by one, wrists extended and faces veiled to maintain anonymity, as if this whole thing is some sort of game instead of the important, life-altering matter it really is.

Steve doesn't mask the fact that he detests courting ceremonies, and has often made excuses to avoid them, as he feels they’re far too archaic and Alpha-centric for his liking. Really, besides his mother’s insistence that this would mark the end to the whole charade, the only reason Steve even agreed to the meeting is that it really was strictly one-on-one.

Now, of course there are guards posted beyond the doors that would come running at the first instance of trouble–for the Marquess as well as Steve–and even though they’ll never be truly alone with each other, at least the illusion of privacy is there.

Steve inhales sharply as the Marquess finally steps into the room, and true to both his mother and Sam’s word, Steve is absolutely besotted at first glance.

His steps are tentative, and Steve is acutely aware of the Omega’s apprehension by the way his scent sours a bit. But still, it’s that grassy, sunlit aroma that grabs him by the collar and shakes him, tells him that this is something worth paying mind to. It’s a scent that reminds him of his youth; of days spent running about the fields with not a care in sight, trying to outrun the rain that frequently doused this land in its life-giving nectar, of picking bouquets of wildflowers for his mother, only for her to weave them into a crown to lay atop his head, proclaiming him the king of her heart long before Steve ever wore the crown of his forefathers.

One tiny inhale is all it takes, and Steve is home. 

“My God,” he breathes as he takes in the radiant beauty of the Marquess, barely aware that he’s staring in an uncourteous manner. “Heavenly creature, all mine to behold…”

Divine is not a word strong enough to define what he’s seeing when he looks upon the Marquess, who despite his obvious apprehension, holds himself with a level of pride and dignity befitting an Omega of his status. But it’s the only word that comes to mind when Steve attempts to wrap his mind around such natural grace and beauty as this. 

He’s dressed in typical Omega fashion for the occasion; a long, light blue dress that accentuates the curve of his hips and the gentle slope of his shoulders. The bodice of the dress is a sheer floral print, allowing Steve to catch a peek of the white corset he’s wearing underneath. The sleeves are slit open from wrist to shoulder, and the same sheer fabric covers his slender arms like ink on flesh. Steve so desperately wants to reach out and touch him, feel how soft the spiral curls of his long, honey-brown hair–left to loosely flow over his shoulders while a sapphire encrusted tiara sits upon his head–are under the calloused pads of his fingers. 

His scent must have given his intentions away prematurely, as the Omega suddenly stops at the foot of the long, lavishly decorated table that’s between them, seemingly startled by the King’s rapt attention trained on him. But he remembers himself a moment later, quickly coming to stand before Steve and bow in his presence, as most do when they’re presented to the King.

“Your Majesty,” James greets, and his soft voice flows like honeyed wine, so sweet Steve can almost taste it on his tongue. He lowers himself to the ground, kneeling before Steve with those stunning grey eyes of his downcast to settle upon the wooden floor beneath him.

Steve is instantly envious of the Goddamn floor, longing to have those gorgeous eyes back on him where they belong. He wants to watch those plump, pinkened lips curl around his name, see the blush of his cheeks grow darker under the heavy weight of Steve’s attention, smell how sweet his scent becomes when Steve murmurs praises into the shell of his ear.

Desire washes over him as he reaches down to hook two thick fingers under the sharp curve of James’ chin, tilting his head up gently. Their eyes lock, and Steve’s heart flutters like the wings of a bird when James’ lips turn up in a slight smile that leaves him breathless and weak.

“My sweet Omega,” Steve murmurs, head spinning when James quietly sighs. “You bow to no one. It is I that should bow before you, James.”

James doesn’t seem to know what to do with that, casting a cautious glance around before Steve pulls him back up to his feet. Of course, he’s aware that he should be getting to know James before making any rash decisions, but the rational part of Steve’s mind that would normally be at the helm for these matters seems to have left the post vacant, allowing his baser instincts to take over.

Though, it appears to be the same for James, who’s lost the ability to do much else besides stare at the King with a hooded gaze and a parted mouth.

God, his kingdom for just a small taste of those plush lips...

Steve’s palm slides along his smooth jaw, cupping his cheek tenderly as if James’ pale skin were made of fine porcelain. Without thinking, the Omega turns his head to nuzzle into the touch, tucking his nose into the crook of Steve’s wrist to scent him properly. 

Every bone in Steve’s body turns liquid at that, and his eyes fall shut as a violent shiver rocks through him. Never before has Steve had this kind of reaction to another, and he’s both frightened and intoxicated by it, craving more with a ferocity that’s frankly concerning. 

Is this how mating is supposed to feel? Steve can hardly say he knows at all, but he can’t imagine it being any other way _but_ this.

“B-bucky,” James chokes out after a moment, still taking long pulls of Steve’s scent as he speaks; eyes closed and pulse racing against the skin of Steve’s palm. “M-my family calls me Bucky.”

Steve echoes the name, reverently rolling it around on his tongue to see how it feels in his mouth. It’s odd, he’ll admit, but it’s also something James has carried with him all his life. Something he feels comfortable sharing with Steve. As silly as it might seem to others, this is an important piece of who James is, and Steve is honored to be able to hold this gift in his hands and cherish it for what it is.

“I’m honored to make your acquaintance, Bucky,” Steve says, completely helpless as he falls headfirst into the Omega’s charm that has him so skillfully ensnared. Those eyes are like dark hooks for the soul, keeping Steve right where Bucky wants him. 

“I am at Your Majesty’s pleasure.” Bucky bites his lower lip as he grins bashfully, long eyelashes brushing the blush on his cheeks.

“Does-,” he begins, pausing to better collect his thoughts. “Am I to your liking, Your Grace?”

Steve lets out a breath, and before he really knows what he’s doing or why, he finds himself tilting Bucky’s face up, leaning down as if he were going to kiss him.

“Nothing on this Earth could–"

Steve catches the scent long before he hears the intruder’s voice on the other side of the door, but all the same, he can’t stop the possessive snarl that’s ripping from his throat like a lion’s roar.

“My Lord, you can’t go in there!” Peter is pleading, “the King can’t be disturbed while-”

“Who are you to tell me where I can and cannot go, boy?!” retorts the unmistakable voice of Alexander Pierce. “I am Lord Privy Seal, and I have urgent business with the King. Get out of my way or I'll beat you like the mongrel dog you are!”

Bucky stiffens as the door is promptly shoved open, and Steve has all of three seconds to prepare himself before their private meeting is interrupted by the likes of Pierce, Sitwell, and...Joanna of Vormir, who’s looking at Steve in a manner that could only be perceived as betrayal.

“Your Majesty, I-” Pierce starts, but his thought is cut off abruptly at the sight before him.

“You promised me a King!” Joanna hisses, smacking Pierce in the arm as a petulant child would when they haven't gotten their way. She’s speaking to Pierce, but her eyes are still on Steve, glaring heatedly at the way he's holding Bucky close to his side; protecting him. 

“Yet, here my mate stands, wrapped in the arms of another.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, I scrapped the original plan to just have three chapters for this story. It'll be a little longer, and I apologize for the shorter update, but I kinda had a plot bunny for this pop up at the last second ☺
> 
> Big thanks to @Peggy's_wife for being my beta for this chapter ❤

Steve’s agitated gaze rapidly shifts between Pierce and Joanna, his pheromone-addled mind slow to make sense of the things the Vormirian Princess just proclaimed in front of his potential consort, whose scent has since taken a sour turn; bitter disappointment and sorrow sullying a moment which should have been filled with nothing but radiant joy.

He’d see Pierce’s head on a pike by day’s end for that alone, nevermind the unabashed treason that’s taking place before him. 

It’s now clear to Steve that Pierce was the one who set up the meeting with Vormir’s ambassador, Jasper Sitwell–who, as is their custom, hasn’t been present at court since their two countries declared they were at war–with the sole intent of arranging a union Steve explicitly expressed he wanted no part in. 

Negotiating alliances with foreign powers without the knowledge or approval of the King, and done to further one’s own political agenda, no less, is treason, for which the penalty is ultimately death. 

Though, as King, Steve needs little cause to put someone to death, and treason could be seen as anything from imagining the death of the King to publicly disagreeing with him.

Steve has absolute power over this realm, answerable to no one but God and his conscience, and that alone makes him a very dangerous man to cross. Luckily for Pierce, though, Steve’s no tyrant.

He has no desire to condemn innocent people to a grisly fate, and prides himself on his level-headed view when it comes to justice served in his kingdom. 

But Alexander Pierce, Steve reminds himself, is not an innocent man. 

Steve’s hindbrain is eagerly steering him in a bloodthirsty direction, but then again, it’s been heading this way for quite some time when it comes to Pierce. At this point, Steve’s in no mood to keep that side of him in check, especially when he has such a pretty little Omega nestled into his side, waiting with bated breath to see what his Alpha will do to preserve his honor.

Though, for Bucky–and just the mere thought of it sends a cold shiver down the Alpha’s spine–Steve is certain there isn’t a single thing he wouldn’t do for this Omega, up to and including the public execution of a privy council member.

Of course, It’s no surprise to Steve that Pierce is the one behind this. That villainous cunt has always served his own interests before that of the King’s, but having done this...there’s no denying where Pierce’s loyalty stands now, and it’s time that Steve shows them all just what a King is capable of doing when faced with defilement of this nature.

So, with a territorial growl and a show of teeth, Steve wraps his arm around Bucky’s slim waist and draws him closer to his side, letting everyone present know where their King truly stands. 

Now and for the rest of his life, Steve’s place is at Bucky’s side. His  _ mate’s _ side.

“You are gravely mistaken, Princess,” Steve bites out from behind clenched teeth, far too aggravated to be anything more than perfunctory in his courtesy. “You are not my mate, for I have chosen another, whose beauty and grace far exceeds that of your own.”

Bucky stiffens in Steve’s arms at that, turning his eyes from Joanna’s furious scowl to gaze imploringly up at Steve. He doesn’t have to give voice to what’s on his mind, for Steve already knows the question that rests on the tip of his tongue. 

_ “Have you chosen me, my love?” _

Steve lets his body do the talking, shouting his answer from the pit of his belly with a nose pressed into the crook of Bucky’s neck and a low, thunderous growl that shakes Bucky to his core. 

His Omega shivers in his arms, delighted, tilting his head back obediently to bare his throat to Steve.

God, what a fool he’d be to ever choose another living soul.

_ “Yes, my darling,”  _ he says in the back of his mind, becoming drunk off the heat of Bucky’s skin, the richness of his scent; now sated and pleased with his Alpha. “ _ A thousand times, yes!” _

It’s all the confirmation Bucky needs to hear, but Steve would gladly spend the rest of his years showering this Omega in love and adoration everlasting if he’d wish for Steve to do so.

Though they’ve only known each other for a few precious moments, the sense of serenity he feels in the very marrow of his bones–that deep connection that’s only ever been present for soulmates–is exactly what Steve’s been searching for in a mate. He wants Bucky, desperately  _ needs _ this Omega in ways he can’t ever articulate with words alone, and nothing–not open war with Vormir or the very real risk of inciting the wrath of Pierce’s loyal army–will stand in his way.

Steve can sense the territorial changes in the notes of his scent, can feel the physical weight of it manifesting in the room with them like a thick summer haze. And as the tension grows in the faces of Pierce and Sitwell, ever so slightly, he feels Bucky begin to relax against his side, bringing his hand up to lightly rest against Steve’s chest; fingers loosely curled around the soft fabric of his doublet. 

Steve shifts closer, fully enveloping Bucky in an embrace that shields him from any harm that may come their way. 

There isn’t a doubt left in anyone’s mind just who Steve was referring to when he spoke of his mate, and the sight of that lover’s embrace incites a jealous rage in Joanna that’s so potent Steve can’t help but wince a little.

“You would choose  _ this _ over a princess?” Joanna sneers, her green eyes burning deep into Bucky’s stormy blues. “I could give you kingdoms, riches, sons!  _ He _ will only bring you pain and misery, this barren..mockery of an Omega! He is not fit to wear a crown!”

The barb is meant to gouge jagged wounds into Bucky’s self-confidence, to bring glaring attention to the elephant she thinks is in the room with them: the complications that almost always come with male Omegas that bear children, if they even could. But what is obviously a flaw in Joanna's opinion, isn’t so in Steve’s.

“Be silent!” Steve barks, startling the Princess into submission with the full force of his voice. “The only one here that is unfit to wear a crown is  _ you,  _ Joanna. You’re a spoiled child too used to getting their way, throwing fits the moment you can’t have what you crave.”

Joanna, much to Steve’s surprise, doesn’t say anything to counter that accusation. She’s quiet, but her darkened expression tells Steve as plainly as words that Steve will rue this day for years to come.

Still, Steve continues, emboldened by Bucky at his side; steady and unmoving despite the vitriol that flowed freely from Joanna’s lips.

“You will never have me, Princess, and if I were you, I would remove myself before irreparable damage is done. I fear not your bastard of a father, girl, and I do not fear you.”

Pierce hastily steps forward at that, pasting a placating grin on his wrinkled face in a vain attempt to snuff out the flames that threaten to burn his bridge with Vormir. Of course, the gesture only makes Steve’s grip on Bucky tighten all the more. He knows Pierce has his heart set on a Vormirian mate for Steve, and at this juncture, he’ll say and do just about anything to make that happen. 

But in order to do that, he has to remove Bucky from the King’s mind, and Steve isn’t about to even let him try.

"Your Majesty," he says, a bout of nervous laughter clogging up his throat. "If I may be so bold–"

"Come now, Mister Pierce," comes a response that Pierce–or Steve, for that matter–wasn't expecting to hear. "I believe you've been bold enough already."

Pierce blinks down at Bucky in surprise, taken aback by the strong-willed voice resonating from what he assumed was just another meek Omega. Not to mention the blatant disrespect Bucky just showed by addressing him as _Mister_ rather than his hard-earned title.

It seems that appearances, much to Steve's utter delight, can be quite deceiving. 

Bolstered by Steve's protective hold on his waist, and how vehemently his King is defending his honor, Bucky presses onward, revealing a sharp tongue and a quick wit that Steve wasn't yet aware he had.

Of course, now, Steve can see a strength in him that's easily concealed, hiding his true nature behind shy glances and rosy, blushing cheeks. But there's more to him than meets the eye, and Steve is beyond delighted to see those vibrant colors shine through to the surface.

"The King, your sovereign Lord you swore an oath to serve, has had quite enough of your vile words. How long has it been since Vormir bought you,  _ Your Grace? _ The promised price must have been handsome if you'd so willingly betray your King and country for this Vormirian  _ whore." _

Pierce balks, and for once, his silver tongue is but a lead weight in his mouth, failing to produce a single sound for a few blissful moments. But of course, the silence doesn’t last.

“You–How  _ dare _ you speak to me like that! I ought to have you whipped like the worthless bitch you are–!”

Steve doesn’t even let him finish that vile thought, swiftly grabbing him by the collar and slamming the Alpha’s back up against the wall. Ambassador Sitwell is quick to grab Joanna by the arm, backing them away to a corner of the dining room once the King finally lets his hatred for Pierce boil to the surface. 

“I should have done away with you the second that crown touched my head,” Steve growls out, belatedly aware that the room is now saturated with the scent of his untamed anger. Still, he presses on, reveling in the fear he can feel rolling off of the Alpha in thick waves. “Luckily, the weight of that mistake is not one I have to bear much longer, _Mister_ Pierce.”

“Your Majesty,” calls Sitwell, intervening on Pierce’s behalf before the King could say much more to seal Pierce's fate. “We are offering you peace! Vormir and Brookhaven could be allies. Just think of what we could accomplish together–”

“I want not your damn peace!” Steve seethes, whipping his head around to pin Sitwell to the spot with the heat of his glare. “You came here with the intent to have your way with Brookhaven and its King. But my country is not a brothel and its King is not a whore!”

“I-I believe you are mistaken, Your Grace,” Sitwell stammers, “We only wish to forget the unhappy past.”

“Excellency,” Bucky sighs, fixing Sitwell with an unimpressed look, his long gown dragging behind him as he effortlessly glides across the room. “Is it not customary for the ambassador to be recalled to their country upon declaration of war?”

Sitwell bites back the venomous retort crawling up the back of his throat, muttering a simple “yes,” that’s still somewhat dripping with unmasked disdain.

“And, pardon my assumption,” Bucky continues with a barely concealed grin, “were you not recalled from this court when your master cut down Ambassador Erskine in cold blood? Was it not your King that wounded mine with these egregious acts of war?”

Again, Sitwell gives the same response.

“Then, what on earth are you doing here? Surely, my King did not request this meeting, and from the looks of it, I’d say you and your Princess are wholly unwelcome in this kingdom. Why, something dreadful could happen to you both, being unprotected on enemy soil, wouldn’t you agree?”

Sitwell grits his teeth, but the message Bucky is relaying is quite clear: you either leave this realm on the first ship you can find, or you’ll both have your heads decorate the Brookhaven bridge alongside Pierce.

The wary gaze Sitwell fixes on Pierce is even clearer: you’re on your own from here.

The Vormirian Ambassador wordlessly takes Joanna by the hand and pulls her toward the door, exiting the room as quickly as his feet can carry him, and leaving Pierce still clutched in the King’s wrathful hands.

“Oh, Mister Pierce,” Bucky purrs as the King's guard comes pouring through the open door, slowly coming to stand next to Steve, whose grip on his collar tightens that much more in response. The Omega carries himself with a certain level of confidence and pride, and it leaves Steve’s mouth feeling dry as a bone to be enveloped in the aura of that strength. 

The guards stand at attention, spears and swords drawn as they await their King's command.

Bucky places a hand on Steve's shoulder, keeping his lidded gaze locked on Pierce as he softly presses a kiss to a spot on the side of Steve's neck. The very same spot a mating bite would go.

It's a wordless message, but its truth rings loud and clear in the small space between them: _the game is over, Pierce. You've lost._

“What’s to be done about you?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Putting the 'porn' in porn with plot😏

With his Omega at his side, keeping that firm, possessive touch on his shoulder, it doesn’t take much more coaxing from Bucky to steer Steve down a dark path regarding Pierce’s fate. Of course, Steve despises capital punishment in any regard, but he knows now that if he allows Pierce to live, it will only cause him that much more grief further on down the line. He needs to send a message, one that rings as loud and clear as a bell to the people he rules over. 

The standard punishment of traitors being publicly hanged, drawn, and quartered will do quite nicely for a man like Pierce, but still, the thought turns Steve’s stomach sour to have to stoop to such lows in the first place. However, Steve has to remind himself when thoughts of mercy begin to crowd his mind, that Pierce has more than earned the honor of having his head be the first of Steve’s reign to grace the Brookhaven bridge for the things he's done. 

Steve glances down at Bucky, and it’s in the warmth of his touch and the intoxicating allure of his scent that Steve finds the strength to do what must be done. Bucky smiles up at his King reassuringly, and as if it’s a reward for Steve’s bravery, Bucky presses his soft lips against the side of Steve’s neck again, marking him. The fleeting touch instantly has Steve’s skin burning up. It’s explosive and devastating, like fire and gunpowder, which consumes his very being in an inferno of wanton desire until not even ash remains.

“You know what you have to do,” Bucky is murmuring next to his ear, then, and his soft voice is so deep and hypnotic that all Steve can do is nod his head. “Send them a message, my love. Show them how strong and fierce their sovereign is, how virile my King—my  _ Alpha _ , my beloved mate, truly is.”

Pierce’s eyes go wide at that, and Steve can smell the sour tinge of fear on him as the King’s grip tightens on his collar. It makes Steve’s heart beat faster, and his pupils dilate with a wild sort of excitement he can barely contain, hearing Bucky say such things in that saccharine voice of his. Pierce must see it too, because despite how outmatched he is, with the King’s guard surrounding him on all sides and the King himself pinning his back to the wall, he squirms against Steve’s hold, trying to wrench himself free. Steve, once more, slams his back up against the wall for his trouble, shaking Pierce like a ragdoll.

“Y-your Majesty,  _ I beseech you,”  _ Pierce tries, and Steve can tell that he’s positively terrified by the way his voice cracks and rises in pitch. But despite the fact that Steve is right in front of him, his eyes keep flitting to the side to find Bucky’s, and it’s then that Steve realizes that it’s not the promise of violence in the King’s eyes that Pierce is so frightened of. It’s Bucky, who has the most powerful man in all of Brookhaven eating out of the palm of his hand, ready and willing to rip Pierce apart with nothing more than his teeth and nails if Bucky would ask him to. His words carry an unfathomable weight to them, and Pierce knows, just as Steve does, that true power lies with the one that has the ear of the King, that can make their words become reality with a simple snap of their fingers. 

At that moment, Pierce is painfully aware that Steve may be the stallion that pulls the country forward, but it’s Bucky that holds the reins, and that terrifies him more than anything. Pierce knows the King, knows that his heart doesn’t long to see Pierce’s blood mar the crown upon his head. But he doesn’t know Bucky, whose heart seems dead set on extracting a pound of flesh from Pierce on Steve’s behalf. He can’t manipulate this Omega in the same way he does the King, because all he appears to want  _ is _ the King. He has no other prize to dangle in front of him, no carefully crafted words to bind his hands. Bucky is free from Pierce’s influence, and so, Pierce cannot touch him.

“Your Grace, please,” Pierce begs, and the sound of his bumbling pleas has Steve’s hold on him tightening until the collar of his shirt is cutting into his neck, choking him. “Have mercy! Think of all the good I have done for your kingdom–f-for you!”

“Your vile scheming would have had me crawling into bed with the Devil!” Steve roars, and Bucky grins wickedly when Pierce shifts his pleading gaze to him once more. “There will be no mercy, not for the likes of you.”

“A cage in the Tower is the best you can hope for, Mister Pierce,” Bucky adds, “but I wouldn’t count on the comfort of a cold, stone floor for long. Perhaps the rats could provide you with council while you await execution? I hear they’re great listeners, when they’re not feasting on your flesh as you sleep, of course.”

“How befitting an end that would be for him, my darling,” Steve practically purrs, sliding his heated gaze from his mate to the bewildered look on Pierce’s face. Bucky rewards his mate with another kiss, this time to the sharp curve of his jaw. Steve would do just about anything to have those lips on his, and Bucky knows it, but by the sweetened notes of his scent, Steve can tell that Bucky wants it just as badly as Steve, if not more. They’re on equal ground, even though Steve makes it seem as if Bucky has the upper hand.

“Mister Pierce has always liked to keep company with vermin,” Steve continues, and Pierce’s skin blanches white as a bone. “We should grant him that courtesy one last time before the noose is tightened around his neck.”

At the sound of a ragged inhale, Steve turns his head to see young Peter standing in the doorway, watching them warily. His lip is split and his left cheek is red and swollen, showing the evidence of yet another transgression Pierce has committed within the past hour. 

“Mister Dugan,” Steve calls, tossing his voice over his shoulder to the Sergeant-at-arms, a tall, broad-shouldered Alpha with ginger hair and a mustache. “Add assault to the charges, will you? Mister Pierce has besmirched his noble birth by behaving like a common criminal, and thus shall be afforded the same privileges as one. A room will be waiting for him in the Tower, see that he gets there.”

“Majesty,” Dugan acquiesces with a nod, and Steve steps back as the Sergeant moves forward to put Pierce in irons. “Alexander Pierce, you are here charged with treason and assault on a gentleman of His Majesty’s privy chamber. You are, by thine own hand, dismissed of all your offices, stripped of all titles and lands so graciously afforded to you by the crown, and all your goods shall be taken into the King’s hands.”

“I’ll be sure to distribute the entirety of your vast wealth to the less fortunate of this realm,” Steve adds, just to rub a bit of salt in the gaping wound in Pierce’s pride. “I know how much you detest them, how you spit on them and curse them in the streets for nothing more than sharing the same space as a man of your elite status. How poetic it would be that the coin you kept from them would end up being their saving grace. Truly, this realm thanks you for your generosity, Mister Pierce.”

“This is madness– _ tyranny, I say _ !” Pierce spits indignantly. “I am no traitor!  _ I am no traitor!” _

Pierce struggles, fruitlessly, shouting and generally making an unholy racket as he’s cuffed and taken into custody. Steve pays it no mind, even as the crowds begin to gather; their curiosities thoroughly peaked. Bucky wraps his arms around the King’s waist, nuzzling his nose into the crook of Steve’s neck as the onlookers shift to get a better look at them, unabashedly scenting the King in full view of the courtiers. 

It makes a strong sense of pride swell up in Steve’s chest, knowing that his Omega is putting on a bit of a show, letting the gossip pools in on their new-found romance to spread the word. He’s claiming Steve in every way one can, say for a mating bite, so that no one can question the legitimacy of their bond. No one else can have the King but him, though, Steve would never deny Bucky that right in any regard. They belong to each other, now and forever.

Pierce is hauled from the King’s personal chambers, leaving all dignity behind as he kicks and struggles, screaming out his innocence to any who would hear. It leaves Steve with a strange sense of satisfaction, one that Bucky’s scent mirrors perfectly. He presses a kiss to his mate’s forehead, and Bucky purrs under the affection; preening for his Alpha with a blush on his cheeks that reaches the tips of his delicate, elf-like ears.

Peter clears his throat from the doorway, effectively grabbing their attention when the soft sound cuts through the heavy air between them like a hot knife through butter. Although, by the deep red blush on his face and the wide-eyed look he’s giving them in return, the call for attention he’s now receiving probably wasn’t intentional. Steve has noticed, belatedly, that Peter isn’t the sort that craves attention. He’s genuine and kind, and Steve adores that about him, so, of course, it makes his blood boil over with righteous indignation all over again to see that Pierce had laid a hand on someone as innocent as Peter. 

“Are you alright, boy?” Steve asks the young Beta, who’s nursing the cut on his lip with the sleeve of his shirt, still lingering in the doorway.

“I’ll be fine, Your Majesty,” Peter assures him, smiling with a wince. “I’ve had worse than this.”

He pauses for a breath, and Steve can see the shame reflecting in his eyes as he says, “I-I’m so sorry, my King. I should have stopped them from entering. I didn't try hard enough, and I let them ruin your moment and–and–”

“No, no. None of that now, you hear?” Steve holds up his palm, cutting off Peter’s guilt-ridden spiral into self-loathing over something he had little, if any, control over. Poor lad. He really is such a gentle soul. One this damned world isn’t worthy of.

“It’s not your fault, dear boy. You did what you could, and I can promise you that nothing was ruined beyond repair.” Steve softly says, soothing the boy’s battered pride. “You’re very brave, standing up to Pierce like that. So go, celebrate your courage amongst your friends. Eat like a king, drink the finest wine in our stores, and be merry. You’ve more than earned it.”

Although it was hesitant at first, the smile that breaks out across Peter’s face at Steve’s commendation is quite brilliant. He practically falls over himself in his haste to get to the wine, throwing out his gratitude to the King with loud, boisterous laughter that’s true to his youth. Steve grins as the door to his personal chambers shuts behind Peter. He’s happy for him, truly, and he meant every word he’d said, but in all actuality, Steve has been dying to have Bucky all to himself since the moment the Omega first opened his mouth, dazzling Steve with his sharp wit and even sharper words. 

The raw adrenaline from their confrontation with Pierce and the residual anger that’s settled like hot embers in Steve’s gut are slowly burning themselves out now that the threat is finally removed from his sight. But Steve would be lying if he said he wasn’t still affected by the scent of another Alpha on his skin. The room stinks of Pierce and Joanna, sullying the entirety of his personal chambers with their combined musk.

It disgusts Steve, vehemently so, and the Alpha part of his brain–both louder and stronger than his rational mind at the moment–is screeching for Steve to cover this place from top to bottom in nothing but  _ them _ ; mark the walls and the table, the floor, and even the bed with the strong essence of Bucky’s scent entwined with his own.

Steve wants his den to reek of sweat and sex, to put off any would-be intruder with the sheer weight of it in the air around them. Steve knows that it’s absolutely mad to think of such things so soon after meeting the Omega he’s without a doubt going to take as his mate, but judging from the heated look in Bucky’s eyes, he’s thinking along the same lines as Steve.

Steve turns in Bucky’s arms, then, wrapping his mate up in his embrace to draw him that much closer. It feels like heaven, having Bucky’s smaller frame tucked protectively into the shield of Steve’s arms like this, but he cannot deny that he wants  _ more _ . So much more than he should be asking for right now. But even knowing that as well as he does, Steve presses onward, because if Bucky wants this too, then why shouldn’t they allow themselves to have it?

“You have quite a venomous mouth on you, Sweetheart. Where did you learn to talk like that?” He asks, testing the waters, and Steve shudders as a devilish smirk curls up the corner of Bucky’s mouth. It draws his attention to Bucky’s lips once again, and the coy way in which he runs the tip of his tongue against them, leaving his perfect mouth slick and shiny.

“Why, I’m afraid I don’t understand, Your Grace,” Bucky retorts, his face now the picture of innocence, playing the part just as beautifully. Steve’s never wanted to corrupt someone so badly before, if ever, but the little flutter of his lashes and the pout on his lips is doing strange things to Steve’s body and mind, and he finds that he absolutely loves it. “If my mouth is not to your liking, then I’m sure you could find a better– _ proper _ use for it.”

_ Oh, could he ever.  _

“You little minx,” Steve playfully admonishes, and without thought he leans down, rubbing the tip of his nose against Bucky’s; nuzzling him. Steve breathes in deeply, taking a greedy lungful of that scent that makes his head spin and his heart flutter. It sets his blood on fire, being this close to Bucky; their lips but a hair’s breadth apart now. “What am I to do with you?”

“I am at Your Majesty’s pleasure,” Bucky husks. “All yours to command–to  _ control _ . Do with me what you want, and I will be thankful for it.”

His gorgeous eyes are hooded and dark, and his scent is turning honey-rich and sweet with arousal that makes Steve’s hindbrain purr with delight. Bucky’s tongue darts out, swiping against Steve’s lips, teasing him. Tempting him. Steve can barely stand it anymore. He has to have him,  _ needs _ to sink blunt nails and sharp teeth into Bucky’s soft skin and listen to his succulent whines–feel his delicate body writhe against Steve’s, envelop his thick knot in Bucky’s slick heat–the very thought of which has Steve’s knees going weak.

"Kiss me, my King. Alpha– _ please _ ," Bucky whispers, then, as the spice and heat of Steve’s arousal mixes with his own, and that sound–that tiny, almost inaudible plea–has Steve so firmly under its heel that he simply must surrender to it. 

He finally– _ finally _ claims Bucky’s lips with a guttural groan, shutting out all else but the taste and feel of his mouth against Steve’s own. At the sensation of Steve’s tongue tracing the seam of Bucky’s lips, the Omega obediently opens up. Steve licks behind Bucky’s teeth, mapping out the inside of his mouth, and they moan wantonly in tandem at how delicious it feels. Bucky’s mouth is so warm and wet, his slick tongue tasting of honied wine and sweet plums, and Steve becomes drunk on the taste of his kiss in an instant, craving  _ more. _

Their lips separate for a moment as they both take in desperate lungfuls of air, and Bucky’s arms come up to wrap around Steve’s neck, pulling him down into another bruising kiss that’s just as intoxicating as the last. Steve’s crown falls from atop his head, clattering loudly where it lands on the floor at Bucky’s feet–where Steve himself longs to be. The thought has Steve’s head spinning, his body thrumming. His hands slide down of their own accord, now cupping the back of Bucky’s thighs through the thick fabric of his dress. Steve lifts and Bucky gasps into his parted mouth, wrapping his legs around the King’s slender waist as best he can. 

“Oh, God.  _ Yes,”  _ Bucky whimpers, holding on to Steve’s shoulders tightly as his Alpha carries him across the dining area to the long, lavishly decorated table. “My King– _ Alpha, please.  _ More!”

“Impatient, are we?” Steve jests, but the humor is lost in the way his voice drops down to a predatory octave, morphing into a deep growl that has Bucky shivering in his arms. “Don’t fret. I’ve got you, Sweetheart. I promise.”

“So good to me,” Bucky mewls as Steve clears off the table with a broad sweep of his arm, sending gold chalices filled with pearls and bowls full of exotic fruits scattering to the floor. He sets Bucky down as gently as he can manage under the circumstances, and slots himself in between Bucky’s spread legs, attacking his mouth once again with blistering kisses and teasing nips that threaten to leave fresh bruises behind. 

Bucky is panting against Steve’s mouth, clawing at the buttons on his doublet in a desperate attempt to remove it. He manages to pop a few loose, but his shaking fingers can’t seem to work the last button free. 

“Fuck,” Bucky spits, frustration and impatience coloring his tone as he tries, instead, to rip the offending garment right off of Steve’s chest. But of course, he doesn’t manage that either. 

“C’mon.  _ please!” _ Bucky whines, and the pitiful keen his Omega lets out when he slides his pleading gaze up to meet Steve’s goes straight to the King’s cock, already perked up and straining against the front of his trousers. 

Bucky notices because of course he does. The intimidating bulge pressing against Bucky’s thigh is a hard thing to miss. 

Bucky’s eyes darken a bit more at the feel of it, and he licks his lips, hungry and desperate to get his hands on Steve’s cock. Bucky slips his hand down between them, and Steve gasps as the Omega palms his prick through his trousers, tracing the shape of it with his fingertips.

“I want to see you, Alpha. All of you.” Bucky pleads once more, giving Steve’s cock a teasing squeeze for emphasis. “ _ Please.  _ I promise I'll be so good, I swear it. Just please– _ ” _

“Hush your begging, Darling,” Steve says in a manner that doesn’t afford Bucky the option to debate: the natural  _ Alpha _ in his tone and the kingly authority he wields as well as any sword causing Bucky to shut his mouth with an audible  _ ‘click’  _ the instant the words are past his lips. “Patience is a virtue, you know." 

"Not now, it isn't," Bucky pouts, and Steve can't help but smile fondly at the way his voice breaks when he’s this worked up. He's such a needy little thing, clearly used to getting his way. But Steve would surely be remiss in his duties as Bucky’s mate to ever deny him a single thing he desired, so of course, he doesn't. He'd give Bucky the still-beating heart from his chest if he ever asked for it. It belongs to him anyway, so why shouldn't he have it?

The King places a kiss on Bucky’s forehead as he presses a large palm to the center of his mate’s chest, slowly pushing him back until he’s lying flat against the table. Just the way Steve wants him. He steps back for a moment and just  _ looks _ , lets himself drink in the way Bucky’s sprawled out on top of the dining table. 

The pale blue of his dress and the creamy ivory of his skin clashes against the rich crimson and gold of the tablecloth lying underneath him, but pleasantly so. It makes him stand out all the more, the way the jewels in his tiara shine in the evening sunlight, his long, curly hair fanning out around his head like a halo. Bucky’s lips are bitten red and glossy, his eyes blown black, and cheeks rouged red with need. He’s gorgeous like this, painfully so, and Steve simply cannot delay their passion another second.

Steve divests himself of his clothing, just as Bucky wished, and Bucky watches raptly from where he lies on the table; knees spread under the bulk of his dress, the high heels of his shoes digging into the hardwood. The rapid rise and fall of the Omega's chest is hypnotic, almost putting Steve in a trance as he sheds his doublet and the white linen shirt he wears underneath it. He pops the button on his trousers, pulls off his thigh-high boots, and bares every delectable inch of himself before Bucky.

His Omega moans at the sight he paints, standing there in the rose gold rays of twilight. Steve catches a glimpse of himself in the full-body mirror by the window, and can hardly believe that it’s him he sees. Steve’s skin is flushed clear down to his navel, the stiff peaks of his pink nipples peeking out from behind the brassy curls of his coarse chest hair. His hard cock hangs heavily between his thighs, the wet head becoming visible as it slips through the slit in his foreskin. His short hair is a mess from where Bucky’s fingers ran through it, but all things considered, Steve thinks he looks pretty damn good. Bucky’s telling purr, however, says that he’s right.

“C’mere,” Bucky coos, beckoning Steve closer with a curl of his finger. “Want you. Want to feel you.  _ Please.” _

Steve goes to him, then, draping his larger body over Bucky’s like a blanket. His big hands are cupping Bucky’s cheeks, his tongue taking a few more tastes of the Omega’s sweet lips before moving his affections to the divot in Bucky’s chin. Steve presses a chaste kiss there, and Bucky giggles breathlessly, sliding his hands down Steve’s back to grab greedy handfuls of his pert ass while Steve puts lips and teeth to Bucky’s neck, nipping at his scent gland.

Bucky’s laughter breaks into a loud whine, back arching off the table. Steve’s tongue is now drawing lines down his chest, dipping into the slight space where Bucky’s tits meet the fabric of his corset.

“I want–Steve, I need– _ please!” _ He babbles, grinding his hips against Steve’s bare thigh. Steve groans low in his chest, getting a little lost in the wet slide of Bucky’s slick cunt against his skin, but he remembers himself a moment later, gripping Bucky by the hips to still his restless movements.

“What is it?” Steve asks, seeking confirmation. “What do you want, Sweetheart?”

“Want your mouth,” Bucky chokes out around a whimper. Steve’s knees nearly buckle under the weight of Bucky’s answer. “Taste me, fuck me with your fingers, just don’t knot me yet. Don’t want it like this. I wanna wait, Alpha. Wanna be your Queen when you take me.”

The air rushes from Steve’s lungs at that, leaving him dizzy and drunk on lust. He knows what Bucky’s actually trying to say, and of course, Steve understands where he’s coming from. If Steve were to knot him now, and Bucky were to conceive before they were publicly mated, he’d be touted as the King’s whore rather than the fierce sovereign he would be. The legitimacy of any children produced from that coupling would undoubtedly be put under scrutiny, as would Bucky by some of the more traditional members of this court. Steve doesn’t want to put Bucky through any of that, would rather die than see him hurt and disrespected, so if waiting is what Bucky wants to do, then Steve will wait and be glad about it. It’s just that simple.

“Alright,” Steve softly murmurs, leaning up to press one last kiss to Bucky’s lips.

Bucky doesn’t say anything else, just chases after Steve’s lips when he pulls back. Steve gives him one more kiss for good measure, then slides fluidly to the floor before Bucky; kneeling at the edge of the table.

Bucky whimpers quietly when he feels a pair of warm palms slip under the skirt of his dress, sliding up his smooth legs to rest on the curve of his hips. The King chases the fleeting touch with wet kisses and little teasing nips to the soft fat of Bucky’s thighs; his head now fully covered by the bunched up silk of Bucky’s dress.

It’s overwhelming, being this close to Bucky’s sex where the scent of him is the strongest. Steve shivers and buries his face into the soft mound of flesh that makes up Bucky’s pubic bone, taking long, shameless pulls of honey-rich air so thick with arousal that Steve’s own cock is left aching, dripping strings of milky white precome onto the floor below.

Admittedly, Steve hasn’t had much exposure, if any, to male Omegas before Bucky came into his life. He wasn’t sure how their anatomy differed from his own, or why folks around court said they were  _ ‘complicated creatures’ _ . Honestly, Bucky’s not all that different from Steve. Yes, Bucky’s cock is both smaller and thinner than Steve’s, and his balls are drawn up close to his prick, whereas Steve’s hang heavily between his legs. And aside from his asshole, left loose and wet with slick to ease the way for Steve’s cock to slide home, they’re virtually the same.

Steve isn’t sure he understands how conception in this regard works. Not much is known about male Omegas in general, due to their rarity, but Steve knows that it  _ can _ happen, and when it does, it’s highly dangerous for both Omega and child.

He tries to shake the thought from his head, focusing instead on the little sounds he’s pulling from Bucky as he mouths along the side of his cock, running his tongue down the seam of his balls until Steve reaches the source of Bucky’s intoxicating scent.

Steve feels Bucky’s hands resting on the top of his head, urging him closer. Bucky’s hips writhe and circle, wordlessly seeking friction where he needs it the most, and Steve dives right in without another second of hesitation, licking Bucky’s entrance with broad strokes of his tongue; lapping, slurping, sucking with such vigor that Bucky’s spine bows off the table in a sharp arch that looks as if it hurts.

Steve can’t help but moan as Bucky’s succulent nectar fills his mouth, coating his tongue with raw arousal. It’s sweeter than he thought it would be, like he’s sucking on honeysuckle. The taste of Bucky leaves him light-headed and desperate, hungry for more with no shame in doing whatever he must just to get another lick. That raw enthusiasm must shine through Steve’s ministrations, as Bucky’s sounds are getting louder; frantic with a need he can’t quite express with words at this point.

_ “Fuck,”  _ Bucky throws his head back dramatically, knocking his skull against the table a bit too hard when Steve grips him by the thighs and dips his tongue inside his ass, tasting him. Steve growls against his ass and adds a finger, exploring with one, then searching Bucky’s walls with two, finally finding his prize on the third swipe of his fingers. 

“R-right there. Oh, God, don’t stop. Please don’t stop!”

Steve doesn’t, couldn’t even if he tried. Bucky has his head locked in a vice grip between his thighs, keeping him right where he needs him. Steve fucks him with three fingers while he licks around Bucky’s hole, switching the rhythm periodically from slow and sweet to fast and mean, always finding that spot that has Bucky’s thighs shaking around Steve’s head.

Steve’s hand finally migrates to his own cock, unable to neglect himself any longer. He wraps strong fingers around the shaft and strokes himself to the same rhythm he’s fingering Bucky to. It almost feels as if they’re fucking, doing it this way, but Steve knows that nothing could ever compare to the tight squeeze of Bucky’s body wrapped around his cock. Nothing on this earth would ever be as good, but for Bucky, Steve would wait for as long as he needs him to.

“O-oh, oh God, Steve!” Bucky nearly shouts as Steve picks up the pace, fucking him with purpose. “M’gonna–you’re gonna make me–oh, Christ, there!  _ Right there!’ _

Steve obeys, obediently massaging that little spot inside of Bucky just the way he likes, and it almost startles him when Bucky’s hole suddenly clamps down on Steve’s fingers, drenching his face and hand when he comes with a drawn-out yelp; squirting out slick the same way his cock spits come onto his belly.

Steve’s never seen anything like it before, but the sensation alone–coupled with the fist squeezing around his swelling knot–is quick to bring him off as well.

The King bites the inside of Bucky’s thigh as his release tears through him like a bullet, his cock coating his own hand and the floor in thick ropes of spunk. He soothes the bite with a sweet kiss once his head clears a bit, and it’s not long after the fog lifts that Steve finds himself cleaning Bucky up with his tongue, lapping up the come off his belly in a manner most would consider filthy. 

Steve presses one last kiss to Bucky’s twitching hole before he extracts himself from his spot underneath Bucky’s skirt, wiping the slick from his face with the back of his hand. He stands shakily, and finds that Bucky hasn’t moved so much as an inch on his own so far; thoroughly reduced to a boneless pile of happy Omega on the table. 

The corresponding spike in sated Alpha is quick to follow.

“You alright, Sweetheart?” Steve asks as he swoops down to lift Bucky up into his arms, carrying him off to the bed where he'll be more comfortable. 

“You’ll be expected to do that every day for the rest of our lives,” Bucky rasps, smirking tiredly up at Steve as his Alpha lays him down on the mattress. “I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into. I’m not easily satisfied.”

Steve climbs in next to him, helping Bucky remove his shoes when it’s clear the Omega won’t lift so much as a finger to do it himself. 

“Seems pretty easy to me, my love. But I could always try harder next time, get you begging before I’m even in the room–”

Bucky hits him in the face with a pillow to shut him up, and Steve laughs so hard he nearly falls right off the bed.

“Quiet you,” Bucky huffs, but there’s laughter in his voice. It's the most gorgeous sound Steve's ever heard. “I put Alexander Pierce in his proper place, and I won’t hesitate to put you there as well.”

“Ooh,” Steve growls, startling a giggle out of Bucky when the King rolls over to pin him to the bed. “I quiver with  _ fear, _ Your Highness.”

Steve attacks Bucky’s face with little kisses, keeping him pinned underneath him despite how wildly Bucky’s squirming to free himself. It’s a light moment, one that should fill his heart to bursting with joy. And although he  _ is _ happy, the re-emergence of Alexander Pierce has Steve’s mind drifting down a darker path.

Pierce almost certainly has friends at court, and he may still have his loyal army in play, waiting to strike at the opportune moment. Imprisoning Pierce doesn’t solve a single thing, it just delays the inevitable. But Steve knows one thing as well as he knows there’s blood in his veins and marrow in his bones. If Pierce were to ever escape before his date with Death, not even God himself could save them from the wrath he’d bring down on both of their heads. Starting, of course, with Bucky.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think ❤


End file.
